Storytime
by lefcadio
Summary: Life isn't a fairytale, but that's okay. Postmovie, Elricest.


Notes: Written for the elricest LJ 'Fluff vs. Angst' challenge. This was for Team Fluff, and my theme was 'Storytime'. :p

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As a child, Alphonse had always loved bedtime. There was something unbelievably comforting about snuggling down under a big, soft duvet; having the curtains shut tightly against the dark night outside, and there being a small lamp on the bedside table giving off a soft glow. The only thing nicer than this, Al had decided, was when his brother joined him. He would lie on his side, back nestled against Ed's chest; an arm hanging loosely over Al's waist, and breath tickling the back of Al's neck. This cosy cocoon was one of Al's favourite memories of his childhood - happy pockets of time which, even in retrospect, could not be tainted.

Frequently when they were like this, their mother would come and sit by them for a while. She would smile softly, and stroke her sons' golden hair. Then, when they were drowsy from the warmth and the soothing comfort of her presence, she would begin to tell them a story. Al could never remember the particulars when he woke up, but his dreams were full of vivid images - of brave, noble knights and fierce dragons; of beautiful princesses and elaborate palaces; of magic and wizards and colourful spells. Alphonse loved them all.

As they got older, their mother stopped telling them stories. Occasionally, though, when Al was feeling sad or sick, she would tuck him in bed with some warm soup, and he would plead with her: 'just this last time!'

And she would laugh, and then begin.

Secretly, Alphonse had always loved the tales of knights in shining armour best; fighting an adversary bravely, and then rescuing their beautiful damsel in distress. Even more secretly, he had liked to imagine himself as the knight, battling through hordes of goblins in order to get to the troubled Princess Winry, who would take his hands and thank him for being so noble. 

Al has always loved the idea of happy endings. But, as time has gone by, he's learned that it would be foolish to expect one.

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The rain pelts thickly against the window panes, and the brief flashes which illuminate the pitch black sky indicate that it probably won't be stopping any time soon. Thunder rumbles, a low growl which can be felt through the walls.

It's London, at the end of October. Al sits at his desk and stares glumly out into the darkness; a book lies open before him, but he's glanced briefly at it once in the past half-hour. The window rattles with the next burst of thunder, and Al stands with a sigh, turning to walk and crouch beside the dying fire which is now burning low in the grate. The searing heat is a welcome wave of feeling, and he reaches for the dull metal poker which lies in front of him.

Everything seems to flicker as the light coming from the fireplace falters; after a few perfunctory jabs at the embers, Al desists and just reaches for the coal bucket.

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Two hours later, and the fire is blazing brightly again. Al barely notices; he's curled up on their small, hard sofa, drowsing. A tiny part of him is awake, though, and it's at times like these that Al can admit to himself that -- yes, sometimes he _is_ a little lonely. Sometimes it _is_ a little scary being here. That he _does_ sorely miss Winry and Aunty Pinako. Especially on cold, dark nights like this, in this strange, alien city. On these nights when Ed is so busy working, and Al doesn't want to bother him. He knows his brother wouldn't mind, of course - but the last thing Al wants is to hold him back and distract him when he might be making progress.

No, Al thinks to himself distantly, life isn't like a fairytale. He's no brave knight, and there's not a princess in sight.

"Al."

He wakes with a start, and opens his eyes to see Ed standing in the doorway, bowl in hand. "Brother..." a tired smile spreads over his face, and he sits up, gesturing for Ed to come over. "How's your reading going?"

Ed lets out a small sigh and shakes his head, "not too well. But... basically what I expected." His mouth twists into a wry smile, and he pushes the warm bowl into Al's hands. "Here, eat. You should take better care of yourself, you know?"

Al blushes and grins, lifting a spoon of gently steaming rice pudding to his lips. He watches Ed run a hand wearily through his hair, and loosen his collar. Al hadn't realised quite how hungry he was until he'd started to eat, but the pudding was warm and creamy, and he soon found himself feeling a lot more cheerful. Soon the bowl is empty, and he stands up to take it to the kitchen. The old wooden floorboards creak, and the small room is dark and a little damp. But as Al places the bowl in the sink and reaches for the tap, he suddenly finds himself enveloped in a hug from behind.

"Ed..."

Al's grown quickly in the past year, and he now stands a full head taller than his brother. So Al can feel Ed's warm body pressed against him, and can feel Ed's eyelashes brushing the back of his neck. He grips his brother's hands tightly with his own, and then, without warning, Ed is tugging him back towards the main room and pushing him down onto the sofa, capturing him in a tight embrace. Al runs his hand softly up Ed's back, and places a gentle kiss on Ed's jaw, even though his brother's hair is so long that it constantly gets in the way. Ed's lips curve into a small smile, and he sits up on Al's lap to better cover his brother's neck in kisses.

They don't really need to speak. Their arms and lips each envelop the other in warmth, and Al realises, as he slips his hand under the back of Ed's shirt, the skin hot and alive beneath his hand, that it's these moments in the here and now that he treasures.

No, it's not a fairytale. But, when it comes to reality -- he holds Ed close and knows that he really wouldn't have it any other way.


End file.
